“I know that.” I run my finger along the rim of the glass and picture four little babies running around the house, all of them with my eyes and her hair and skin. It’s a strange, bizarre thought, and I’m suddenly very happy there’s already a fleet of nannies on staff. “I said as much to Olivia.”
“And how’d she like that?”
“Apparently she’s not interested in a marriage of convenience. With me, at least.”
“Is that a big shock? Karah explained to me the context here, and I suspect there’s more I don’t know. You did a lot of shit at that fancy fucking school you never told me about.”
I smile at the light refracting through the vodka bottles. Yes, he’s right, I didn’t tell him much back then—because he wouldn’t have understood it. Nico was a hard kid from a hard background, and I was the rich Don’s son going to a private school. He earned his stripes on the street in blood and broken knuckles, and I struggled to keep up with him day after day, but I did it. I learned to be a killer while he was born into the role.
I kept things to myself. I didn’t tell him about Olivia and the fallout. I still do sometimes. I don’t want him to see me as the weak Don’s boy, even if that’s what I was and what I wanted. Even if my plans involved going into business while Nico remained out on the streets, killing and fighting and pillaging. We were supposed to be two halves of a coin. Now we’re just one side of a dollar bill.
“You want to know something I haven’t told you yet? Danil Federov went to Miller Academy. He was in Olivia’s year, in her class.”
Nico grunts. He doesn’t seem surprised, but I know him better than that. He’s thinking hard on it, letting the idea spin through his brain.
“That’s one hell of a coincidence,” he says finally. Stating the obvious.
“I’m aware. What are the chances that a guy we went to school with comes back to town around the same time Olivia does too? And he happens to be running his own crew? It’s more than a little suspicious.”
“You think he’s here for her?”
I shake my head. He better not be. But I can’t say that. Nico would repeat it to Karah and she’d get all these ideas about how I feel and I don’t need that mess. I especially don’t want to explain to my sister that yes, I am attracted to Olivia and yes, I want to hate-fuck her into oblivion. That’s not exactly a good conversation for family members.
I tap my knuckles against the pitted wooden bar top. “I don’t know what to think, but she agreed to play liaison in exchange for a favor.”
“Doing deals with your future wife already? Typical Don.”
I grunt and don’t want to think too much about that one. “I need you to do some research for me or get some guys to do it or however you want it handled. I need to know who killed her brother, Manuel Cuevas. This would’ve happened ten years ago during the war when I was a senior in high school.”
“And I was no more than a juvenile delinquent with a rap sheet and a penchant for petty crime.”
“Pretty much. But keep this quiet, okay? I don’t know who did what back then and I don’t want to cause more strife than is necessary. I don’t need people thinking I’m going to start cracking skulls over a war that’s ten years gone.”
“Understood.” He throws back his drink. “I can be discreet.”
“I bet.” I finish my drink too. It’s warm and harsh with a nice peaty flavor. “Don’t tell Karah either.”
“Why not? She’s my wife.”
“Yeah, and she’s my sister, and she’ll start talking shit if she knows I’m doing something to help Olivia. For my sake, please.”
“I can’t promise that, but I’ll do my best.” He stands and steps away from the bar. He rumbles like a jumbo jet and walks like an elephant. He’s a big bastard, rippling with muscle and danger. There’s a reason he’s been my enforcer for as long as I’ve needed one. But he’s smart too, much cleverer than most the guys in this organization, and that gives him an edge. There’s a reason we became friends, but now I wonder if he found me because we get along or because he wanted to use me to get closer to my father. I suspect the latter and it doesn’t sit well.
He heads off and I linger alone in the silence. Somewhere, a vacuum groans. I drink another whiskey, taking my time. I think about Olivia’s kiss, her hips, her mouth. Her lips and tongue. Her moans.
I made mistakes ten years ago. I’m still making mistakes with her. But back then it was worse: I didn’t know that I wanted her. I didn’t realize how it would feel to give in and taste her, and by the time we finally tumbled into that bed, it was much too late. There was an insurmountable distance.